


Blake's War- A Blake's 7 re-imagining

by manmiles



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-10 18:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17431622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manmiles/pseuds/manmiles
Summary: An attempt to rewrite Blake's 7 through a modern, Y2K lens.Roj Blake thought it was just another number in the system until he discovers a shocking truth about himself and the horrors of the world he lives in. These revelations will lead him and a collection of criminals and other revolutionaries on a collision course against the corrupt Terran Federation, the only power in all of space. But are they heroes, criminals, freedom-fighters, or monsters?





	1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Every morning is pain for Roj Blake. The pain of pulling an unhealthy and overweight body out of bed. The pain After his morning routine of getting washed and dressed, the tele-screens in the combined lounge/kitchen area of the three-roomed apartment would be on and the news would be on. The Terran Federation broadcast twenty-four news all across the planet and indeed, Blake had to assume, all across the numerous planets and solar system that made up the greatest space-power in the galaxy. Not that there were any other real powers, Blake knew that for certain. There was the odd independent world, but they were filled with rapists and the criminal types whom the Federation kept at check with their mighty military. Doing their job, keeping the all-important Colonies safe. Breakfast would be ready then, dispensed by the food machine and his food-rationing checking off that morning's calories. The food tasted good, but Blake had a few friends in the food department who told him that a lot of what made the food taste so good was added later artificially. Blake didn't care, it was food and he was grateful to have it, unlike the Delta Grades who always seemed perpetually upset. Especially as the news on the vis-screen was telling him right now.

"Rioting in the Delta Districts of Central City has carried on for a third straight day." The image of the newscaster disappeared and was replaced with drone footage of the Delta Districts. They didn't have the same luxury as Blake did as an Alpha Grade, but then, why should they? Blake paid his taxes, Blake contributed to society. He was happy with his lot, the Federation clothed him, the Federation fed him, what more could he want? The Deltas were given good quality housing, built from the same kits used in the Colonies, they were given a small amount of food rationed to them and they still complained! They were complaining about the free handouts they were given, not that the Federation was really obligated to give them anything. As far as Blake was concerned, the Administration could quite easily tell them to buy their own food and see where that got them. It wasn't the Administration's fault that there weren't enough jobs for the lower-grades. They could all go live on the Colony Worlds for all Blake cared. The Immigration Program was open to everyone, regardless of class. That had been what his family had done five years ago, Blake smiled sadly. He didn't like to think about his family that much anymore. That had been what his doctors said had caused the... unpleasantness in his life. His brother, his sister and his mother had all gone to one of the outer colonies looking for work and a new purpose. Blake had remained, because of his job in the History Department. It had been a tragic departure and an even more tragic ending, no-one could have seen the explosion from a shuttle accident that had claimed all three of their lives. Blake sighed and poked at the rest of his food idly. He didn't feel so hungry right now, in fact, he just felt unhappy. Leaving the plate on the table, Blake stood up and left for work. As he passed the food machine, he opened the slot where his boxed-lunch was provided, taking the small, recyclable box containing everything the doctor's said would make he feel good and fit. That, Blake thought, looking down at his large body, was somebody's idea of a sick joke.

The number of security troopers on the streets was increasing. The black uniforms, the concealing gas-masks with the rifle slung casually over their shoulders, marching up and down the streets in perfect step. Normally, they made Blake feel safe, but the slowly increasing numbers, along with the increased number of security checkmarks were starting to make even him feel uncomfortable. Ravella would probably have something to say about it. Ravella had a lot of opinions about such things and she would always make sure that Blake knew her opinions. Not that Blake minded, Ravella was attractive enough for him to listen to.  
“Pass.”  
The trooper's baton caught Blake neatly and gently in the chest. Freezing, Blake realised that he'd walked straight into one of the new checkpoints, only installed this week. The trooper's baton pulled away from Blake's chest, indicating a small scanner.  
“You slow?” the trooper grunted. “I need you to take your pass-” The baton now indicated the pass-card in Blake's hand as he fumbled to pull it from his pocket. “-then you give it to me-” The baton now pointed at the trooper's chest. “-so I can put it in here-” The baton tapped the top of the card reader. “-and we can all go about our lives.” Giving up the card, Blake waited for the trooper to scan it. A security checkpoint to walk the streets, a checkpoint to get on the train. There'd probably be a checkpoint to use his own bathroo-  
“Something funny?” Blake realised that he'd been smiling. The trooper was looking at him intently now. With the black, tinted visor on his helmet, how could he look anything other than intimidating?  
“No,” said Blake. “Just thinking.” The card was thrust back into his hand and he was pushed through the checkpoint. A bit rougher that he'd like, Blake thought to himself as he kept on his way, hoping he wouldn't be late for work.

Work didn't prove to be any better in the end. The shifts were long, his chair uncomfortable and very rarely did anybody every try to talk to him. Ever since he had come back after his 'illness,' he had been basically nothing more than a social pariah at work. Oh, they were polite to him, exceedingly so, but Blake knew he wasn't wanted. Understandable, given what he'd apparently done. Every so often, one of the younger ones would talk to him. But they would eventually be scared off by the supervisors. He was used to spending his days all but alone, for the most part.  
“Blake.”  
The supervisor's voice caught his attention. The supervisor stood in the doorway to his cubicle, a data-file in his hand. Without hesitation, the document was placed on the table. “Filing check. A Code-Seventeen.”  
With a nod, Blake took the file, the supervisor turning to stride away. Slowly, Blake watched him go before he started working on the file. He was lucky to even have this job, if some people had their way, he would have been working with the Delta's handling radioactive material with manipulator arms, a job not even the service robots could do. The file was standard, historical documents from a few years back, needed touching up and re-editing. You didn't need to be a former history teacher to do the job, but it helped. Not that they would let him be a teacher anymore. If they barely tolerated him here, no-one would want him anywhere near a school. With his usual methodical action, Blake ran his eyes over the document, touching up here and there.  
"Roj."  
The shapely figure stood over his desk. With a smile, Roj looked up at Ravella, standing with her hands on hips. Her dark hair cut low on one side and let long and loose down her right side, Blake could only assume it was a new fashion amongst the younger Alphan's, maybe even emulating the Deltans and their unkempt habits. Still, despite the age difference of nearly fifteen years, she was attractive, one of his few friends. He was sure a few people had warned her off him, but that hadn't stopped her. He liked that about her, she was a troublemaker, but not a troublemaker who ever did anything worth reporting.  
"Yes?" he said with a smile. Ravella rolled her eyes.  
"You looked so bored over here," she said. "Thought I'd come brighten your day."  
"Oh, you have," Blake laughed, grateful for something to feel good about. Ravella always knew what to say to grab his attention. As one of the more senior members of the Historical Accuracy Department, she always seemed to come to him with some question or another. "So, what is it today, Ravella? The dissollution of Religions? One of the pre-Reformation Wars? The collapse of the Old Calendar?"  
"Nothing like that," she said, leaning in close. There was a hint of perfume surrounding her, Blake kept looking up at her, trying not to let his eyes wander. The packed lunch he brought with him was open by his terminal. Before he knew what she was doing, Ravella had grabbed it, examining the food. “Why do you eat this mass-produced crap?” she asked. “I know it's cheap on the rations, but learn to cook, Roj.” She held up one of the imitation sandwiches. “This stuff is what's making you fat.” With distaste, she placed the sandwiches back in the box. “Get real ingredients, they're a bit pricier, but they're worth it. You're an Alphan, live like one.”  
“I don't like cooking,” said Blake, pushing the lunchbox away. “What do you really want?”  
"I was thinking if you were doing anything tonight? My boyfriend..."  
Oh yes, Blake thought to himself, she does have a boyfriend, doesn't she? If anything, that cemented the need for him to keep the relationship between them professional. There was a harsh beeping from his compu-screen, telling him that he hadn't been working, knocking Blake out of his thoughts and stopping Ravella from talking. That perfume was very attention-grabbing, he was surprised she was allowed to wear it.  
"I'm sorry," he spluttered, quickly working to pause his compu-screen. "I missed what you said."  
"My boyfriend's had to go to one of the other domes for work. I'm lonely."  
"What about it?"  
"I'm scared to go back to my part of the dome alone.”  
“What do you mean?” asked Blake. “There's security patrols and-”  
“That's not the same. I want you to come with me.” Ravella was all but leaning into his face now. Kissing distance. Blake swallowed and waved her away.  
“Fine, fine!” he snapped. “But just go away!” With a grin, Ravella stepped away, moving back to her own cubicle. Quickly, Blake got back to work, it was quite a simple task, re-editing some old textbooks. Changing a word here and there to give better historical context.  
“Isn't she a little old for you, Roj?” sneered a voice from the next cubicle. “Or will you take anything young since they won't let you near the schools anymore?”  
Taking a deep breath, Blake closed his eyes and tried to focus on his work. He wanted to tell the man in the next cubicle to shut up, but the words caught on his mouth and he was fighting the urge to throw up.

There’s no colour, Blake thought to himself. The world was a solid, dreary grey, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it before. The buildings, leading off to the sloping walls of the dome city before him, all grey, lacking distinctive looks, a collage of concrete and metal. Even the walls and the sky above him was a grey, metal thing. There was no sunrise or sunset in the dome. Just a dimming or the brightening of the lights built into those same walls. With a sigh, Blake looked about him, at the people all going their own ways. Did anyone else notice? Was it just him? The aberrant thought bothered him. It wasn’t a steel sky outside, out beyond the dome. Not that you’d ever want to go there.  
“Roj?” Ravella was leaving work, running down the steps to join him. “Are you okay?”  
Rubbing his head, Blake admitted he wasn’t sure. The thought was still there, buzzing at his brain.  
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”  
With a smile, Blake shrugged. “I was admiring the horizon. Not much to admire.” He started to walk towards the tram-stop, gesturing for Ravella to follow. It always felt odd when the two walked together. He was so old and she was at least half his age. He felt like a deviant and Blake had too much experience feeling like a deviant.

“Are you ever unhappy, Roj?”  
Blake chuckled to himself. It was the first thing she had said to him since leaving the office. “That's a loaded question, Ravella.”  
“It's meant to be.”  
“You know I'm ill. A mental misfit."  
“That's not what I mean.” Ravella cut him off sharply. The two stood in an empty train-car as it zoomed through the tunnels. Blake was walking Ravella back to her block before he made his way home himself. Late at night now, far too many of the Delta-Grades were breaking into the Alpha-Grade areas, stealing, causing a fuss. “I mean about the world. Just a general dissatisfaction with everything.”  
Blake found himself shrugging. “I never think about it.”  
"No-one ever does and it's upsetting. We just hold on and hope that the people in charge are good and clever people with their hearts and minds in the right place. But then, that's society, isn't it? A deluded belief that the right people are making the right choices about everything. “But it's all falling apart, Roj.” Ravella leaned in close enough for Blake to kiss her. He wanted her to, when had anyone ever tried, or wanted to kiss him? “The Administration doesn't care about the Delta's, it doesn't even care about us. The infrastructure's slowly crumbling around us. There isn't enough work, there isn't enough money, there isn't even enough food. That's why the Delta-Grades are rioting. It isn't because of 'cultural malaise' or whatever the news spins it as, it's quite simply because they're starving. Earth can't produce any food, it's all used up."  
“That's why we import food in from the Outer Planets,” said Blake. It had been one of the reasons why his family had left, chosen for the Immigration and Colonisation Project. The Outer Planets needed people to work the land of fertile planets unscarred by radiation and pollution like Earth.  
“Yes, but not enough and even then, the Federation Military has to keep the Outer Planets in a perpetual stranglehold. Even they're starving because the Administration is taking most of the food and money for itself. Earth is a radioactive corpse of a world and we're being choked in these great metal tombs and... No-one in charge cares if the population of the domes dropped off overnight. Unless it affects their precious records and statistics. But You don't see it, you're an Alpha, you get enough food to keep you fat.” She poked his belly. “And pumped with enough chems to stop you caring.”  
“I don't like where this is going,” said Blake. Ravella flashed a wicked grin.  
“No, I didn't think you were. You don't like the idea, do you? That you're just as ignorant as the Delta's despite how better you are, aren't you?”

Desperately, Blake looked around. No-one was watching them, no-one was nearby. This was the kind of talk they called 'Unpatriotic' and Blake, despite everything, was a patriot. He felt he was at any rate. Even after his crimes, his deviances, the Federation looked after him.  
“You should keep quiet,” he hissed.  
“Or why?” said Ravella. “The Federation comes to take me away? You report me?”  
“No,” said Blake, shocked. Reporting her was the law, but then, then there would be no more Ravella and after that, no more friends.  
“Believe me, Blake. If the Federation was going to take me away, they wouldn't do it here. They wouldn't do it in broad daylight. They'd be waiting for me, at my apartment. They'll carry me off in the night and the next day, you go to work and they tell you I've been transferred. Or I've been chosen to work on the Outer Colonies. They'll even create a vis-tape message, all doctored on computers of course, make it look genuine. But that's the best excuse the Federation ever came up with. A nice little euphemism. 'Chosen to work on the Outer Colonies.' Recycled more like. Death by firing squad and mulched in the recycling pla-”  
“SHUT UP!”  
Blake's grip on the handrail tightened. His scream echoed around the empty interior, his stomach beginning to churn.  
“Why?” Ravella countered. “Because I've struck a nerve? Because I'm getting close to something you don't want to talk about?”  
“My family...” Blake whispered. “They were sent to the Outer Colonies.”  
“They were,” Ravella leaned in closer. Her breath hot on his ear. “And what happened to them?”  
“They-they died. A shuttle explosion, they were killed instan-”  
And that was when Ravella whispered the three words in his ear. The words that made Blake empty up what little food was in his stomach all over the metal floor.  
“Are you sure?”

The next few hours passed in a daze for Blake. The smell of vomit clung perpetually to his nostrils as he staggered off the train and through the city streets of Ravella's section of town. Part of him, some small part of him that wasn't existing in a hazy daze and was still taking in sensory information all around him knew that Ravella was with him, escorting him without saying a word. Her hand felt soft around his own. Blake swayed drunkenly beside her, only her support keeping him from dropping like a stone. When he finally fully snapped back to reality, he was lying on a bed, looking up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Pulling himself upright, Blake looked around. The room he was in wasn't Ravella's, it wasn't even the same type of design as his own. There was no sign of any personality or colour to the room.  
“It's a rental,” said Ravella. “Cheap sleazy hotel rooms for cheap, sleazy events.”  
“Oh,” said Blake dully. Ravella was sitting in one corner of the room.  
“I'm sorry about what I did,” said Ravella. “I doped your food. Something to make you good and sick. Get that shit out of your system for a little bit.” Blake, feeling woozy was only partially paying attention to what she was saying. Something about suppressants in the food and water. Why would the Administration want to drug us? Blake thought as he lay back onto the bed, waiting for the room and the universe to stop spinning in opposite directions for just two minutes at least.  
“Why am I here?” asked Blake. Quickly, he tried climbing to his feet, but the floor gave way beneath him and he collapsed back down onto the bed.  
“I asked her to bring you here,” said a voice. An old man's voice. Somehow, the voice seemed a little familiar. From the next room, a figure stepped out, dressed in the same type of clothes that Blake wore, complete with the coloured Alpha-Grade armband around one arm. He had a kindly face, fierce, distinctive eyes peering out at Blake from underneath a mop of lank gray hair.  
“I'm Bran Foster,” said the man. He didn't hold out his hand, instead, he just gave Blake a pitying look. “I was once one of your closest friends.”  
“I'm sorry,” Blake said blankly. “I have no clue who you are.”  
“I know,” said Foster sadly. “That's why we're all here. We're going to have to change that.”


	2. Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO- 

Foster handed Blake a flask of water. “Don't worry,” he said. “It's clean. There are still a few unpolluted water sources on Earth. Not many, but we know where they are. We have a filter in a special location. No suppressants, no chemicals. Just fresh water, like the Administration drink.”  
Opening the bottle, Blake took an experimental sip. A few seconds later, he was gulping as much as he could, even though he felt like he was going to choke on it. Even the water that the Alpha-Grades got had been recycled and repurified a million times. This tasted like nothing he'd ever tasted before. It didn't even have a taste. Foster sat in an empty chair, facing Blake, waiting for him to finish.  
“You don't remember it at all, do you?” he said, a trace of sadness. “The treatments really did a number on you.”  
“What treatments?” said Blake, finally putting down the flask.  
“The memory treatments,” said Foster, tapping his head. “They call it 'realignment.' The wonderfully cold, yet telling grammar of the Federation's control.”  
“What about my memory?” Blake found himself getting angry. “Look. I had a nervous breakdown five years. I had a personal tragedy and some things are just fuzzy... they told me I... I did things. But I know one thing for certain. I have never met you before and you could never have been one of my 'closest friends.'”  
“We were friends. Five years ago. How very convenient.”  
“Yes,” said Blake, forcing a laugh. Without looking at his friend, he muttered. “This is a sick joke, Ravella.”  
“The 'sick joke' isn't Ravella's.” Foster scratched his chin. “It's actually mine. I had Ravella meet and befriend you. All on my orders.”

“What?” Blake felt numb now. In the last year, Ravella had been one of the only friends he had. No-one else would even go near him. No-one else treated Blake like a person, everyone else just treated him like an annoyance... And all that, all that was a lie?  
“Foster's being melodramatic,” said Ravella, clearly picking up on Blake's distress. “Yes, I only introduced myself to you because he told me too. But Blake, you are my friend. That part is true.” Her hand wrapped around his, but he roughly pulled it away.  
“Oh really?” said Blake. It was only his exhaustion and his inability to stay on his feet that was stopping him from running from the room. Or to grab Ravella by the throat.  
“This isn't working,” said Ravella. “We're getting no-where, Bran.”  
“I agree,” said Foster. From a desk drawer, he pulled out a small, mini-comp and held it out to Blake. Blake took it an activated it, the screen lit up to display a picture. The picture was of Blake, but it was a different Blake, thinner, fresh-faced, his eyes didn't seem so sunken and withdrawn. Blake felt shocked, he didn't have many pictures of himself from before, but this, this couldn't have been him. It was a stranger masquerading as Roj Blake.  
“Six, seven years ago,” said Foster. “Things were bad in the Federation. Not as bad as they are now. But really, I might just be feeling nostalgic. We always tend to look at the past as being somewhat better, don't we? But things were still bad, the people were still starving, the Administration were content to line their pockets and fill their bellies and do nothing. But the main difference between then and now was one thing- The Freedom Party. A movement amongst the people, with supporters not just amongst the Alpha's, but even the Delta-Grades. Can you even remember the last time the Delta-Grades were ever given anything close to a voice or a say in our world? They were talking about dismantling the Administration, getting power back to the hands of the people, end the inequality not only here on Earth, but also the Colonies, maybe give them the independence some of them want so badly.”  
“Why would the Colonies want independence?” asked Blake incredulous.  
“Because the Colonies are tired of the Federation using them as an easy means to dump huge chunks of Earth's unwanted population and taking the greatest amount of their productive food output. Because everyone wants freedom when the people in charge have taken it away.”

“I don't remember any of this,” said Blake. It all sounded ridiculous. The Freedom Party? Independence for the Colonies? It all sounded... implausible.  
“You helped found it, Blake.” Foster smiled sadly. “Along with myself and a few others, but you were its spokesperson. Its leader. Its voice.” He took the mini-comp from Blake's hands and pulled up a video clip. The video played before Blake's eyes, the video was him, the younger him, the not-him standing before a group of cheering people. Blake was dressed in a dark suit, speaking with utter certainty.  
“The Federation wants us to believe that the system works. That the Administration's wealth and privilege is how it should be. That the Grade System is how it should be. That the Alpha's deserve the power and respect and the Delta's deserve nothing. That the Colonies exist to feed us and that this is the way it should be. But I say no!” The crowd in the video cheered louder, but even then, Blake's voice, his rhetoric was still clearly heard. “I say down with the Administration, down with the corrupt systems and a return to equality and well-treatment to all! And we with the Freedom Party, we are prepared to do this in hand with the Federation, we are prepared to work with the system, but if we cannot, if the Federation chooses instead to keep things as they are, then the Freedom Party will fight for change any way we know how! The Administration's shackles on humanity will be broken!”  
Blake gasped as the video ended. “I sound like a madman. If that's me at all.”  
“You weren't mad. You were a man who had just had enough. But the Federation knew the ultimate truth. That we were too powerful, that we could change the world. So they did the only thing they could do. They destroyed us.”  
“We were betrayed.” Foster lowered his head. “Someone within the Party. I never knew whom. Criminal charges were trumped up.” Slowly, Foster took a breath. “Your... molestation charges amongst them. We were made wanted men, fugitives. Some of us escaped to the Underground. Many were caught, your family were amongst them. You were amongst them. And you were the one they needed. Roj Blake the Voice of the Freedom Party, the man who could have changed the world. It was our biggest mistake. In turning you into the figurehead, we gave them a man they could destroy. They didn't kill you. That would have given the cause a martyr, so instead, they broke you. Your 'nervous breakdown' was nothing more than mental conditioning. They took the man we had billed as the one hope for the future and turned him into a child abuser.” Foster stood up and walked towards Blake, dropping to his knees before him. “Your 'atrocities' were nothing more than digital nightmares implanted into your very mind. Implanted into the minds of your victims too, to make them believe that you had assaulted them. And when they had finished, they pushed you on stage and you confessed. You denounced us, you named many of us. I don't blame you. The Federation does this sort of thing all the time.”  
“How... how can any of this be true?” Blake's body felt cold, hollow. “I... don't remember.”  
“Of course not,” said Foster. “After they did that, the reconditioned you again. This time, they claimed it was to 'burn the vile impulses out.' But instead, it was to make you even forget everything. Apart from the one thing that mattered, that you were nothing more than a depraved criminal. And that was it for the Freedom Party. No-one would ever want to align themselves with the ideology and the message of a convicted sexual predator. Which is what they want to happen, in order to cover up their own abuses... of both power and the flesh.”  
“None of it was real?” said Blake.  
“It's all here,” said Foster, holding up the mini-comp. “We still have some friends in high places. All the documents authorising the treatments, on you, on the six children who were made your victims. Your innocence.”  
“And my family?” Blake could feel the tears welling up in his eyes. If everything he'd known was a lie, then what of that?   
“They were all exiled off-planet. But they were killed and their bodies dumped out into space. Again, it's all here.”  
“They died because of me?”  
“They died because of the truth. They died because the Federation scientists needed a trauma to keep the mental blocks in place.”  
“They died because of me.” Blake said firmly. He stood up off the bed, legs shaking. “And for five years, I was made to think I was a monster.” Ravella nodded.  
“I only barely remember it, I was a teenager then. When Foster recruited me, I was the perfect age to try and befriend you. Quite easy to people of your age to think the young are just blissfully ignorant.”

Blake paced the room. It would be easy to just laugh this off as some joke of Ravella's and just walk away. The door was right there, but instead, Blake found himself considering everything they had said. If this was all real, then far-greater crimes had been committed and he had been made the public scape-goat to allow them to cover it all up.  
“Why have you come to me?” he asked.  
“We want you back,” said Foster. “I've been underground for five years, trying to keep it all alive. The food-riots in the Delta-Grades? That was us. No matter how much the Federation tries to cover it up, or demean them, they can't cover up the sheer anger and discontent throughout the planet. But that won't be enough.” The smile on Foster's face was wide. “We need you back. We need Roj Blake back with us.” He held up the mini-comp. “That's why I have this. Why we've waited all this time. I couldn't come for you unless I had the proof of your innocence. The Federation made one simple mistake in letting you live, Roj. If word got out about the true depths which the Administration is willing to sink to protect their interests. No right-minded person, no matter which Grade, no matter which Outer Colony could feel anything other than sheer anger and outrage at the injustice. In their arrogance, they've potentially turned you into more of a martyr than you would have been in the first place!”  
“Now what?” Blake's head was starting to hurt. Ravella opened her mouth, but was cut off by a beeping from her belt. She grabbed the small device and checked it.  
“We should go,” she said. “There's Federation Troopers at Blake's apartment. They must have noticed that he's not back.”  
“How do you know what's going on?” asked Blake.  
“Your apartment is bugged and under constant surveillance. We hacked those same signals.”  
“They catch on quick,” said Foster. “How long do you think we have?”  
“I'm one of the only friends Blake has. They'll be coming for me soon enough.”  
“Then we get out of here.” Foster was grabbing a hat and coat which were thrown over a table. Ravella was already tucking her long, auburn hair into a shapeless cap. Blake's eyes flashed between both of them, feeling even more lost than before. Everything was just happening too fast. Ravella stepped up to him, looking apologetic.  
“You'll have to come with us.”  
“Why?” Blake was starting to get his strength back, but part of him just wanted to sit here and wait for the patrols to get here.   
“Blake, if they know you're missing, then they've already probably put together what's happening. That means that when they find you, you won't be going home, you'll be going right into Federation custody with the rest of us. If we're not executed.”  
“Ravella's right.” Foster poked his head out the door. “You have to come with us for your own good.” He looked back into the room. “There's no-one about. We go now.”

They had to all but drag Blake as they ran through the streets. His reluctance to go with them combined with his own ill health left Blake panting and in pain every few minutes and they wouldn't let him stop to rest. They kept to the back, less well-lit streets of the Alpha District. With a keycard in his hands, Foster was able to get them into sections of the streets that were kept fenced off for maintenance and tech personnel. As Blake's vision blurred, he was quickly bundled into a large elevator and before he had time to take stock, the floor felt like it dropped beneath him. Between pants, Blake gasped a few words, but neither Ravella or Foster answered his questions.

“How do you feel?”  
“Like dying.”   
Blake's throat felt dry, his voice scratchy. Ravella offered him the flask, drinking deeply, Blake took stock of where he was. They were standing in the back-ally of a city street. The buildings here didn't look as well-maintained. The kits that had been used to make them had clearly not undergone regular check-ups in quite sometime. It started to all look familiar to Blake. He had been there before, walked these streets, but not only that. He had seen streets like this only earlier that day. On the news in fact.  
“The Delta District? Why are we in this heap?”  
“It's the only way,” said Ravella. “The passenger lifts contain far too many camera's for our liking.”  
“Where's Foster?”  
In answer to his question, Foster, still wearing the hat and coat Blake had seen him put on ran around the corner.  
“It's all clear,” he said. “We better hurry.”  
Blake's complaints and questions went unheard as he was pushed out of the alleyway and out into one of the main streets.   
“What if someone attacks us?” he asked. He knew what it was like here. Poor and restless, Delta-Grades knew when someone had wealth and would attack without hesitation.  
“They're not going to attack you,” said Ravella. “No more than anyone would attack up on the Alpha-Grade Level. It isn't perpetual rioting and crimes, Blake.”   
Blake didn't like the way she spoke to him, talking to him like he was an ignorant child. But, as he looked at the people around them, he found himself unable to deny it. If the buildings had been any indication of what little care towards the areas, the people themselves... Ill-fitting clothes, evidently cheaply produced, a general look of starvation and tired desperation on every face he saw.  
“Where are we going?” he found himself asking. What could possibly be here that they needed? Foster had reached a door in one of the buildings and opened it. Beyond the door was a simple staircase heading down.  
“We're going outside the Dome,” said Foster.


	3. Chapter 3

“Going outside?” Blake's mind snapped into a strange focus. “But, going outside is a category four crime!”  
“Out of all the laws we're breaking right now,” said Foster. “This is probably the least serious.” From the pocket of his coat, he produced three small discs, the size of Blake's palm, each coloured blue.  
“They'll fix easily to your clothes,” said Foster as Blake and Ravella took one each. “They're radiation detectors. The amount of the radiation outside the domes is minimal for the most part, but there are still some zones which are heavily radioactive. Even after a few hundred years.” With that, he walked down the stairs. Blake started to turn to go, but Ravella grabbed him by the arm and was forcing his down after Foster. The radiation detector fixed to the fabric of Blake's shirt and not even his being jostled down the stairs seemed to budge it.

The bottom of the stairs led to a small chamber with a metal floor and pipes running along the walls and ceiling. At the very end of the chamber was a thick, circular hatch, twelve feet in all directions. In front of the hatch was a small portable computer terminal placed on the floor. A series of cables ran from the computer, across the metal floor and up into a small entry-coder next to the hatch.  
“This is how work-details get outside,” said Foster. “Delta-Grade work details of course. When the Domes were built, a lot of the power-plants, water-filtration systems and anything slightly dangerous were built outside the dome and connected through via underground tunnels.” Crouching by the terminal, he quickly got to work. Blake looked around him, finally glancing at Ravella.  
“Are you going to let me go?” he asked her, tugging at the arm she still held tightly.  
“No. You're coming with us, Roj, whether you like it or not.”  
“And do I get a say?”  
“And do what? Go back to the Federation? Tell them what you remember?”  
“I don't remember anything!” snapped Blake. “Everything you've told me could just easily be false!”  
“It won't matter to them,” said Foster. “This time, it might be easier just to kill you. Besides, you've forgotten that we have all the files concerning your innocence right here. Without these files, what are you?” With a last few taps, Foster closed the terminal and the hatch door slowly began to unlock. Servo motors creaking and turning as the hatch unlocked and turned, moving along the grooves of a centuries-old metal track. Even Blake couldn't help but be amazed at the sight before him. On the other side of the hatch, there was another tunnel and at the very end of that tunnel... Sunlight.

Sunlight.  
Real Sunlight.  
How did he know it was real sunlight? A thought then came to Blake. Even in the Alpha-Grade levels of the Dome, the sunlight was an artificial construct. It was far too bright than the real thing. Only now did Blake realise that he had seen the real thing once before. He had stepped out on the surface of the Earth and had closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth. Sunlight, real sunlight was warm, the domes shone light, but no real heat. It wasn't real. None of it was real. Before Ravella could stop him, Blake had broken from her grasp and was clambering through the hatch and walking towards the outside, all but breaking into a run. Behind him, he could hear Foster laughing about something, Ravella was calling for him, but Blake didn't care anymore. He had to be outside, he had to see what was outside the domes. At the end of the tunnel was another door, this one was transparent and opened with a simple handle. As Blake reached for the handle, a loud sound caught his attention and he looked back to see the hatch rolling shut, Foster and Ravella walking after him.  
“Go on, Blake,” said Foster. “Go outside.”

The Dome was build on the ruins of a long destroyed city, the first thing Blake saw as he stepped out through the door was the desolated shells of ancient brick buildings, materials that hadn't been used since the Great War that had forced the construction of the Dome Cities, shortly before the Reformation of the Great Calendar. A huge covering of moss and lichen covered the building, drawing Blake's attention. It felt soft to the touch as he stroked it tenderly.  
“I thought that the planet's surface was sterile.”  
“Many parts of it still is,” said Foster, moving to stand beside him. “It might be centuries until the land is fertile enough for us to grow crops and food. But even now, the world is reclaiming it's dead lands.”  
“We've been here before,” said Blake. It wasn't a question.  
“Very early on. Back when the Freedom Party was something we spoke about in our apartments. It wasn't until we left the Domes that first time that we realised the single truth.”  
“Mankind can't stay in the Domes without stagnating,” Blake felt a warm gust of wind embracing him. “We have to leave. We have to rebuild the planet.”  
“Three-hundred years,” Foster bent to pick up a clump of dirt between his feet. “The Earth's recovery has been slow, but it has recovered somewhat. Indeed, with the same sort of processing used on some of the Colony-Worlds, we might even be able to terraform the planet to something sustainable.” Blake bent down to pick up some dirt himself, it was dry and crumbled effortlessly under the slightest pressure of his hands.

In a dreamlike wonder, Blake walked through the broken streets and dilapidated buildings. These buildings had a name, a shared name, like a District, but something bigger, something more grandiose. A City. This had once been a city and Blake knew that the city had once been called 'London.' The word felt new on his lips, but familiar in his mind and heart. Sadly, Blake wondered how much of his mind had been ruthlessly 'realigned' by the Federation. The fear and trepidation were still inside him, no longer overwhelming him. Instead, Blake was captivated by the sight of a horizon, an endless horizon no longer capped off by the steel walls of the dome. This was all real and it went on forever. This flat, dead world was the most real thing Blake had ever experienced. For a moment, Blake forgot about the Earth, that this was just one world in a sprawling collection of over a hundred worlds across a small chunk of a huge, unmeasurable gulf of space. Instead, all Blake cared about was the endless horizon before him and all that was still out there, waiting for him to find.  
“Where do we go?” he asked unable to hide the wonder in his voice. Foster pointed towards the horizon.  
“Over there. It's quite a walk.”

They walked for an hour, Blake having to fight his every desire to stop and investigate everything around him. A lot of the buildings were decaying and under threat of collapsing if they got too close. A few still seemed to host some radiation, his disc starting to click if he got too close. The Dome was always behind them, a shadow growing ever longer as the Sun moved across the sky. The building they were heading towards was an old power station, the metal structure more familiar to Blake than the older brick ruins. Foster was explaining that it used to be one of the power-plants that powered the Dome long ago and was one of the few buildings that were still in good condition. It was built over a long dried out riverbed and to find their way inside, Blake, Ravella and Foster had to walk carefully across a stone bridge and down a staircase. From there, they had to climb down even further to finally touch on the long baked earth of the riverbed.

“Once, long ago, this river ran through the entire city. Built upon the ruins of the city before it and the river that once flowed through the earlier city,” said Foster. “Deep beneath our feet, beneath all this ground and soil are the remains of the previous city. That was built before mankind had even left the planet, before the wars that so violently changed the very surface of the planet. They called the city London as tribute to the city before it. Don't you remember, Blake? You taught me that.”  
“I'm sorry,” said Blake. “I don't remember.”  
“Erased by the Federation no doubt. From what I've heard, the treatments can go very deep and with you, they probably went deeper than most.”

Blake found himself nodding in agreement. The way Foster and Ravella were talking about the 'treatments,' about him. He couldn't help but find it disconcerting. He didn't even know how he should be reacting. It was easier to be entranced by the world around him than anything else at present. The power-plant before them was lifeless, the size of a city block. Foster was the first to reach it, knowing where the door inside was. Tapping on the door three times, Foster stood back and waited while the door opened before him. Gesturing for Blake to follow, Foster and Ravella walked in without any trepidation. With a hurried look at the radiation detector on his jacket, Blake followed. The moment he stepped in, the door slammed shut behind him, spinning around, Blake found himself looking at a woman, maybe as young as Ravella, but her face was hard set and leathery, hair already greying. She was dressed in a collection of stitched together clothes to make a multi-coloured, multi-fabric cloak. More people were starting to step into view, a few of them were dressed in the familiar clothes of domers such as himself, but many of them were dressed in the same sort of clothes as the woman. Blake had never seen people look so dishevelled or downtrodden, even amongst the few Delta-Grades. His head snapped up, realising who these people were.

“Wait a minute. They're Outsiders!” he stammered. Ravella glanced over at him and nodded.  
“But contact with Outsiders is...” All the people around him were criminals, at least most of them, the people too sick and twisted even to send off to the Outer Worlds. Those and the people who didn't want to fit in with the Federation, choosing death out in the war-scarred wasteland of the planet then fit in with the rest of society.  
“Category Seven crime,” said Ravella with obvious boredom. “You've broken most of the top seven in the last few hours.”  
Blake was about to say something, but Foster stepped back, grabbing him.  
“You have to stay, Blake. I understand you're scared. You should be. But right now, you have to be quiet. Don't you see that these people all recognise you?”  
They were all staring at him, the Outsiders congregating around them.  
“Don't you see, Blake? These were your followers too. Don't you remember? We spoke for letting the Outsiders return. Give them the food and treatment they need. No matter what you've heard or what the Federation has taught you to believe, Blake. They aren't criminals, they're people who the Federation don't even rank as high enough to be Delta-Grades. Have you never stopped to consider, we live in a contained environment? Populations have to be kept at a sustainable number.”  
“But that's why-”  
“We can't send everyone into space, Blake. Out of everyone the Federation sends to the Outer Worlds and Colonies, at least a quarter is simply discarded.”  
“And they get away with it?” said Blake.  
“No-one cares,” said Foster. “At least, not any of those with any actual power.”  
“How do they live?” asked Blake. Foster didn't answer, instead, he gestured to Ravella, who came running over.  
“Get everyone gathered together in the main room,” he said. “We'll talk there.”

Blake stood off with Foster as Ravella started to herd the small crowd out of the corridor.  
“I'm sorry,” said Blake. “It feels like all I'm doing is asking questions.”  
“I don't blame you,” said Foster. “It's all been a lot to take in. But you needed to see this, Blake. You have to understand.”  
“I think I do,” said Blake. “You just want me to be a figurehead for your second revolution.”  
“In a way,” said Foster. “Blake... Roj... The Federation's corruption isn't going to make things better. And it's not going to get better unless we start to do something again. The truly corrupt will never do anything with power and wealth but keep it for themselves. We'll have to take it back.”  
“And if you want me to be your puppet,” said Blake. “What makes you different from the Federation if that's all you want me for?”  
“I don't just want a figurehead,” said Foster. “Not entirely. I want you back, Roj. This isn't you, everything you've seen, the old Blake would be outraged. But instead, you're just standing there, all but indifferent.”  
“Hey.” A man about Blake's age tapped on Foster's shoulder. “We're ready for you.”  
“In a minute,” said Foster dejectedly before noticing who the man was. He smiled weakly.  
“Dev Tarrant, you remember Roj Blake, right?”  
“Of course,” Tarrant held out a hand, Blake looked at it dumbly. Awkwardly, Tarrant retracted the hand. “I'd heard he had the treatments. I've been off-world.”  
“Tarrant is a Security Official for the Outer Worlds,” explained Foster. “Census-taking, food-quotas and relaying it back to Earth. He's been with us for a while.”  
“Oh,” said Blake dumbly. There was something about the man, Tarrant that he didn't like. He was unable to put his finger on it though.  
“What're we going to do here?” he asked Foster.  
“We're just having a meeting,” said Foster. “I'm sorry, Roj. I thought that all this, that it'd somehow stir something in you. I didn't want a figurehead, I wanted my friend back. These last five years, after everything the Federation did to you, to us, it's been hard.”

With a sad smile, Blake patted Foster on the shoulder. His head was starting to hurt again.  
“You have your meeting,” he said, pulling himself away from the two. “Maybe I just need to be alone.”  
“We have some rudimentary barracks set up over on the other side of the factory,” said Foster, pointing. “You take your time, I'll find you when I've finished, okay?”  
Nodding tiredly, Blake walked away slowly, not looking back.  
“He's not like I remember him,” he heard the man Tarrant say.  
“No,” said Foster. “I wonder if there's anything of the old Roj left.” Before Blake rounded the corner and left the room, he heard Foster say one last thing.  
“I made a mistake.”

Ravella watched Blake walk away, she was about to go after him when Foster stepped into the meeting room, Tarrant behind him. He must have noticed what she was planning and held up a hand to cut her off before she even said anything.  
“Blake won't be joining us,” he said firmly and that was that. Discussion over. Ravella felt wretched, with everything Blake was going through, the last thing he needed was to be alone. But before she could say anything, Foster was clapping his hands, getting everyone's attention.  
“Alright, let's get this started!” The energy he was putting on was forced, Ravella knew it, but she also knew how much Foster tried to approach the levels of the sort of energy that he claimed Blake himself would possess when he stood and talked. Was that why Foster had pushed so hard to retrieve Blake and return him to his former self, because he didn't feel that he possessed the energy or charisma to lead the Freedom Party. When she thought about it, Ravella had to privately confess that he didn't. In the videos she had watched, Blake had been firey, he had charisma. A far cry from the rather pathetic figure walking away from them. With a sad sigh, Ravella started to help gather the crowds together as Foster took his place at the head of the crowd. When everyone was facing him, he coughed quietly and started his speech.  
“I'm glad you all made it here-”

Blake's head swam as he aimlessly wandered the abandoned, dead power-station. He could hear Foster and Ravella's words in his head. It made him sick.  
_You had the treatments._  
_He's not the Roj Blake I remember._  
_Don't you care about what was done to you?_  
_I made a mistake._  
Blake's legs started to feel faint beneath him. In a room beside him, off from the main corridor, he saw a collection of tables and chairs. He never understood how he was able to have the energy or strength to sit down in time. Closing his eyes, Blake clutched at his head, the sick feeling wasn't just in his legs, his whole skull was starting to split now. With a light groan, Blake massaged his temples, trying to purge the pain out. Instead, something else happened, a memory projecting onto his closed eyelids.  
_Blake was running, running for his life. Gunfire echoed behind him, deep within the tunnels. The Federation had known they were coming, had been waiting for them. It was no other explanation for it, these old tunnels, service tunnels that ran beneath the Delta-Zone. Once, these had been the travel-system that would link the numerous domes across the planet, but they had been abandoned and lifeless for so long, they had been the perfect place to meet._  
_The bat connected with his face. Blake's side slammed into cold concrete as the Federation Trooper stepped into view, his wooden club raised for another swing. This time, the club smashed into the side of Blake's head and his skull cracked against the wall. There was the taste of blood in his mouth, something feeling wet in his hair. The Trooper's club came up again pinning him into place by the neck as the Trooper brought his knee up into Blake's gut again and again. When the Trooper stepped back, Blake crashed to the floor._ _Another two troopers stepped over him. One of them knelt to turn him over._  
_“This is the guy,” said the one with the club. “He looks just like his vids.”_  
_“What should we do?” said the one who'd turned Blake over.  
_ _“I say we beat him about a bit more,” said the third, pulling back his fist to strike._

Blake snapped out of it with a gasp, a cold feeling in his gut. What was that? Noticing then that he still had Ravella's bottle, he took a small sip of water, his mouth was dry. Was this one of his memories resurfacing? It had been easy enough a short while ago for Blake to either ignore what they were saying, or just choose to write it off as a rather sick joke. But now... if he was starting to remember. That meant it was all horrifically real. 

_“Is this him?” said a voice._  
_“Not much to look at,” said a woman's voice. “Probably not until those bruises stop swelling.”_  
_Blake was naked, flat on his back. The cold surface of the metal was agonising, but Blake found himself unable to move, just looking up at the shadowy figures all about it._  
_“The machine's ready,” said another voice. The woman sighed._  
_“Doesn't matter anyway. When we're done, he won't be attractive to anyone. Are all the probes inserted?”_  
_There were a few whispers of acknowledgement and the cold surface he was lying on began to move. A pink light flashing rhythmically into his eyes as Blake entered the machine. The interior of the machine was polished silver, enough for Blake to catch sight of his reflection. The bloody, bruised face of a stranger looked back at him, the series of metal probes took his full attention. How couldn't they? At first, he thought they were connected to his hair. Then he started to notice the series of painful pinpricks all over his scalp and the realisation brought a scream to Blake's mouth._  
_The probes were pushed directly into his head.  
_ _“He's awake!” snapped the woman. “Quickly, put him back under bef-”_

Blake opened his eyes again, hands running through his hair. No holes, not even the evidence of scars. They had done their job covering it up very well, hadn't they?  
“It's real,” Blake muttered to himself. “Isn't it?” What did that mean for him? Could he go home again? Did he even want to? The sick feeling in his gut had gone, replaced with a fit of growing anger. Home? Why would he want to go back?  
A sound far off on his left shook him out of his thoughts. A flickering shadow at the end of the long corridor, cutting off parts of the light behind them. As quickly as he could, Blake found a small alcove nestled between a dilapidated piece of machinery the wall of metal pipes. Squeezing as best he could, he managed to fit inside, concealing himself in the shadows. Footsteps were starting to come close, numerous footsteps.  
Booted footsteps. Footsteps he had been hearing all his life.  
The Federation troopers strode past him, weapons in hand, all one of them had to do was look his way and he'd be caught. Five, ten, fifteen of them walked passed Blake, none of them even giving him a glance. Once the last of them had passed his hiding spot, Blake fought the urge to push himself out. Better to wait and see.

“Now, what we have to do is to step up civil disobedience. If we can help get two, maybe even three of the colonies to declare their independence...”  
Foster was in the middle of his speech when the troopers came into view. His words died quickly, the crowd had been looking at him the whole time and it was only when Foster stopped speaking did they see that something was wrong. The troopers lined themselves up, their rifles ready. Foster threw up his arms immediately.  
“We demand our rights as citi-” he began. The troopers began to fire without hesitation, not at Foster, but instead right into the crowd. The crowd broke into a screaming panic and broke, trying to flee in all directions. No matter where they ran, it was easy pickings, all the troopers had to do was turn and fire. A few even grabbed metal pipes and pull knives from their clothes, but they were cut down first, their actions futile. Foster made to run himself, but two hands grabbed him from behind, holding him tightly by the hair and the scruff of his neck. Unable to turn his head, Foster watched as every single member of the meeting was shot down without remorse. Ravella was one of the last ones standing, turning to Foster one last time before a shot took her in the chest. It was an expression that Foster knew would haunt him for the rest of his life. But then, before Foster could do anything, the hands let him go and something cold and metal smacked against the back of his head. The barrel of a gun. The last thing Foster saw as he heard the sound of the gun go off was Ravella's body hitting the floor.

Blake heard the gunfire and the screams. He did nothing but remain where he was, pushing his body back even further into the shadows. And then, just as soon as the Federation Troopers had appeared, marching down the corridor, they were marching back the way they came. Again, none of them saw him, Blake holding up a hand to keep his breathing from being heard. It was too tight in here, he felt like he was about to choke. Even when the footsteps died away, he stayed hidden, for minutes, hours maybe, he wasn't sure anymore. Time didn't make any more sense to Blake until finally, satisfied that he was the only one left, he pulled himself free of the hiding spot that had saved his life. The light outside was starting to dim now, filtering over everything, giving it a bloody brown colour. Wanting to leave, Blake decided to look back at what had happened to the others. He found them all, spread out across the floor, a carpet of corpses. Slowly, Blake stepped between the bodies, maybe there was one still alive, maybe they hadn't all been killed. It was the look on Ravella's face that stopped Blake's futile search. Her eyes wide and glassy, staring up at him. Where were you? They said to him. Why weren't you here? Blake felt like dropping to his knees, but anger held him upright.  
“It's happened again,” Blake heard himself muttering as he stood, looking down at all the bodies beneath him, his gaze hardening.


End file.
